Tracks of Emptiness
by Haleine Delail
Summary: When the Conjurer of Emptiness kidnaps Martha and the Doctor, on the verge of discovering their love for one another, can he get in their way, and see to it that they never, ever communicate again?  Sequel to Jukebox of Regret.


**Okay, okay! Sequel! Gee, I never realized how many songs have references to space and time...**

**This is the third instalment in a strange little "series" I seem to have created in which our heroes are taught lessons through music. The first was ****Theatre of Nightmares****, the second was ****Jukebox of Regret.**** It would probably be best if you read at least the latter before diving into this one, but just in case you don't want to…**

…**here's a quick synopsis. In a world of music and 1980's pop culture, the Doctor was being punished with a **_**detonation of regret. **_**S'dromer, whose job it was to do such things, was showing him the error of his ways by making him listen to songs that would let him see that he should never have let Martha Jones walk away from him, because he truly, truly loved her.**

**Please excuse my texting language. I'm one of the last human beings on this planet who does not text. In 2007, people were still using that stilted texting chatter, right?**

**And as always, props to songwriters Sarah Class, Diane Warren, Joni Mitchell, Roma Ryan, Enya, Gary Osborne and Véronique Sanson.**

* * *

><p>He should have known that S'dromer would never allow him to have this kiss, but he went for it anyway.<p>

But as Martha melted away, the Doctor found himself back in the TARDIS, in his pyjamas, where he'd been when S'dromer had kidnapped him. Somehow, Martha's old mobile phone was in his hand, and certainly her voice and lips were on his mind.

Bitterly disappointed, he dialled hastily. She answered groggily, without saying hello.

"Doctor, I know that you don't exactly live on Greenwich Mean Time, but isn't there some instrument in that magnificent ship that will let you know it's one in the morning in London?"

"Martha, who were the pop queens of the 80's? Name a few."

A long pause. "Are you kidding me?"

"Madonna, Debbie Gibson, Janet Jackson… you know, they really have a way of cutting through the bullshit."

"Unlike you. Please tell me one of them is taking over the Earth. That's the only excuse I'll accept."

"No, but I have a story for you, and it has a really nice ending."

She waited. But no story, no words at all were forthcoming from the Doctor.

What she didn't know was that the Doctor had opened his mouth to speak, trying to express himself, and nothing had come out. He tried again. Nothing.

He recited very quickly the Gallifreyan code of conduct for time travel which he had broken seventeen ways from Sunday. He touched his throat, and could feel the vibrations of his vocal cords, but could hear nothing. All his moving parts were working, as far as he could tell, but something was impeding sound getting through.

Maybe it was his ears – he'd gone deaf.

"Martha, can you hear me?" he said with his fingers on his throat, verifying that he was speaking.

Nothing.

After a minute, he heard the phone click. The Doctor's first thought was, "Well, I guess that means I'm not deaf or in complete silence, it's just my voice that doesn't work."

His next thought was. "Blimey, Martha cut me off!"

"Shit!" he tried to say aloud, but wound up only spouting a harsh breath. He shut the phone with anger and got up out of bed to pace.

After another minute, the mobile phone made a 'clink clink' sound. He was receiving a text message. He opened it and looked at the display.

"Y can't I talk?" Martha had texted.

He responded. "U 2? Don't know. Will find out."

He ran to the console room in his pyjamas. His suspicion was that S'dromer was still messing with him, trying to increase his regretful feelings by making it so that he could not communicate with Martha, the very person who, right now, needed to know how he felt. He sent out a call through an active Void Conduit, a way of homing in on beings capable of bending reality, like S'dromer and her brother, Ramechac.

Martha's next text came. "Hurry!"

And like _déjà vu_, the Doctor felt himself pulled through a channel, face first. His body parts went head to toe, pressed into nothing, only to be reconstituted a minute later; toes, ankles, calves, knees, thighs, hips, torso, arms, shoulders, neck, head. Once again, upon landing, he swooned and had to fight the urge to vomit. He almost did not succeed.

And indeed, to his left, he heard the unmistakable, unpleasant sound of retching. Martha was in the corner, in her own set of light blue pyjamas, making the horrible noises. She was trying, and failing, to keep her bare feet out of the way. She was demonstrating that experienced as she may be with travel and teleportation, she was not ready to have her insides squeezed into an intangible mush and re-formed within two seconds and jostled back into existence somewhere across the universe. It was the second time this had happened to her, but the sickness had not got better.

He walked over and put his hand on her back. She looked up at him, surprised to see him. He tried to convey concern with his eyes. He knelt and wiped off the spatter across the tops of her feet with the cuff of his pyjamas. She winced watching him do it, and grabbed onto his collar to get him to stand up again. She tried to speak, to tell him she was all right, but nothing except silence came out. She just sighed and jumped up to give him a hug. When the hug was over she took his cuff, rolling up one, then the other. She smiled at him in thanks.

"Oh, that is just so sweet," said a voice.

The Doctor and Martha looked at each other. Martha mouthed the word "Ramechac," as she had experienced a similar phenomenon with Ramechac the Purveyor of Nightmares. He had kidnapped them both, in very much the same fashion as now, and then thrust her into a series of Broadway musicals, in which she was forced to sing about her feelings of unrequited love.

But the Doctor knew better, knew that Ramechac had siblings, and had oh-so-recently had a run-in with one of his sisters. This, however, was something new. He shook his head at her, and frowned with inquiry.

"Good evening, Doctor," said the voice. "Miss Jones."

"Blimey, why can't you lot just leave us alone?" the Doctor said, and he was surprised to hear his voice come out loud and clear.

He looked at Martha and said, "Did you hear that?" but it was back to silence again. Nevertheless, Martha nodded vigorously that yes, she had heard it.

"Heh-heh-heh," said the voice. A great, bulbous creature, almost transparent, and round, emerged from the shadows. It looked like a ten-foot egg, except its "shell" was made of dead-looking grey flesh, and its entire body was so distended, it looked as though it might burst at any second. Nevertheless, it was, for some reason, wearing a 19th-century style cravat, and its tiny tuft of black hair on top looked as though it had been styled with a curl enhancer. Its eyes were at uneven levels, and uneven sizes, and its mouth was tiny, dripping with blue saliva.

"Why can't I leave you alone? Because, that wouldn't be sporting," said the thing. "What fun would it be to _be me_ without messing with the most powerful and clever man in the universe? You've met your match, Doctor."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that," the Doctor said to it, crossing his arms over his chest. "But it never works out well for those who aren't me. Send us back to our homes, and give us back our voices. Right now, in fact, or you will regret it."

The thing laughed again. "Empty threats. Which I appreciate, since I am Essed'Iv, the Conjurer of Emptiness, but still. You do not scare me."

"The Conjurer of Emptiness? Isn't that an oxymoron?" Martha asked the great big fat thing before her. Her voice came out loud and clear as well.

The Doctor's head snapped sideways to look at her. She said, "Oh, my voice is back," to him, but it wasn't back. When she spoke _to him_, she no longer had her voice.

Essed'Iv said calmly, "You'll find, dear, that you can only speak to me, so just save your strength, all right? And to answer your question, oxymorons collapse upon themselves with circular logic. They suck themselves up, causing a void. A black hole. Therefore, they suit me."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," the Doctor shouted. "Just send us home or so help me…"

"You'll what, Doctor?" the alien asked. "You couldn't defeat my brother Ramechac. You only escaped because a street crowd broke up the link between him and his satellite source. You couldn't defeat my sister S'dromer. You got out of that little debacle because she let you go. Just what do you think you'll do to me?"

"Try me," he growled.

"Sorry, Doctor. In your suit, you look kind of cool, sort of confident-like. But dressed like that, not even a Grask could take you seriously. So if you'll excuse me…"

"Can't you even tell us what you're doing?" Martha shouted.

The giant looked at her, bored. "I should have thought it would be obvious by now, Martha Jones. There is an emptiness in both of your lives. Now that you are on the verge of filling it… well, I cannot let that happen. Humans fulfilled – I hate that. So enjoy your silence."

"So, what, you put us in a false reality of emptiness and show us just how miserable we can be?" the Doctor asked, sighing with the tedium.

"Why, no, Doctor," said Essed'Iv. "I am not my brother, nor my sister. I am much more practical. I, unlike them, and unlike you, do not need to show off in order to assert my power. I can show you misery in your own home. Good day, sir, miss."

"Wait wait! One more thing," the Doctor shouted, just before Essed'Iv raised a hand to wave them into more misery.

"Enough! Goodbye!"

"No, I promise, this is the last thing."

"What?"

"Are you… well, a boy Conjurer of Emptiness, or a girl conjurer of Emptiness? I'd hate to make the same mistake twice."

The thing sighed with boredom. "I am above such labels." It waved the Doctor's question away with its smallish flipper.

"Right. Hermaphrodite it is. Thanks."

"Ugh," Essed'Iv groaned, and suddenly the Doctor and Martha both found their organs being compacted one more time, and their bodies transported through a cable of some sort…

…and the Doctor found himself back in his console room, right where he was when he'd been taken.

A text came.

"M I dreaming?" Martha was asking.

"No. I wish."

He began to pace around, waiting for the texts.

"So can't talk," she wrote.

" :-( ."

A long time went by before she said anything more. He wondered if she was waking up someone in the house to see if her voice would work. But she didn't indicate as much, when she came back.

She asked, "U called. U have smtg 2 say?"

He let out what would have been a cry of anger, if he'd had a voice.

"Yes. Won't txt it. 2 important."

"?"

He waited a few moments before texting back. Martha's question marks indicated that she was asking, _what do we do?_ He didn't want to tell her again that he didn't know, so he thought. He paced and he thought.

There were many creatures throughout the universe who fed on intangible things, and usually it led to disaster. This was one of those times. The Conjurer of Emptiness thrived on sentient beings having emptiness in their lives, having great big holes of nothing, where something ought to be. In the face of a big void being filled, he had stolen their voices, so that they could not confess their feelings to each other, not work out their angst, and not be together. But Essid'Iv had been right: he hadn't been able to defeat Ramechac nor S'dromer, he'd simply been dragged through their tortures and happened to survive.

But in S'dromer's world, at least there was an objective. She had wanted him to feel regret, and discover it within himself. She had shown him his own love for Martha, and only once he knew he wanted her back had S'dromer allowed him to be free.

He realised that there was no objective here. It was simply to _remain _empty. Though, if Essed'Iv needed him and Martha to have emptiness in their lives, then all they had to do was find a way to fill the empty space, as it were, and they could outsmart Essed'Iv and speak again. They needed to find a way to communicate with one another, and do so in a way that would really, truly convey what they wanted and needed to say.

An idea struck him. He dialled another London number, and sent a text message to someone else entirely.

* * *

><p>Martha waited impatiently for the Doctor to respond to her text. She had simply said, "?," because she didn't know what the next move was. She had no idea. She couldn't call anyone, and even if she could, who but the Doctor would be able to help? She didn't know, really, what was even going on. She had the basic rules of the game down, but it was the motive she was unclear on. What did Essed'Iv mean that they were on the verge of filling an emptiness? She suspected that the Doctor had the answer, but he'd said it was too important to tell her via text.<p>

So she waited.

At long last, a reply came. "CHST 102.3. Now."

The Doctor was asking her to tune into a London radio station. She smiled. Whatever this was, she liked it. She had walked away two days ago, but clearly, the adventure was not over yet!

She tuned into the station he'd indicated, and plugged in her earbuds, so as not to disturb her parents in the next room.

"And a text just came in from someone simply called _the Doctor_," the radio host's voice said. "He wants to dedicate this song to Martha. Martha, the Doctor says that he's sorry for the silence. Not just tonight, but for the past two years."

Her breath caught in her chest as an electric piano began playing strumming cadence, and crystal clear girl's voice took over the airwaves, singing resonant notes, "Dee da-dee-da-dee-dum…"

"This song is entitled 'Across the Universe of Time,' and we have never played it before! Enjoy, Miss Jones!"

Martha smiled at that title. She wondered if the title was a trick somehow.

_When the sea falls from the shore, as the light sinks low, will I see you anymore?_

_As the rain falls from the sky, can I bring you back from a distant lullaby?_

_Show me your vision, the story's begun._

_Two lights are rising and burning as one!_

_In the deep blue of the night, shine the millions of stars in my spirit, burning bright_

_Spinning on into the sun, flying higher, now my journey's begun!_

_And a cold, cold wind, it blows me away_

_The feeling all over is a black, black day._

_But I know that I'll see you again, and I know that you're near me._

Martha couldn't believe her ears. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure what she was hearing. She turned up the volume.

_There's a star calling my name; its echo is true though the song is not the same_

_Take my hand and lead me away, bring me back to you, in your arms I'm going to stay_

_Tell me your vision, the story's begun_

_Two lights are rising and burning as one!_

_All those years drifting in skies, I have known you well, but I'd never seen your face_

_You turn around, looking at me, laughter in your eyes, and now I can see_

_That the cold, cold wind, it blows me away_

_The feeling all over is a black, black day._

_But I know that I'll see you again_

_And I know that you're near me._

By now, there were tears of frustration pouring down Martha's face. Did this mean what she thought it meant? She couldn't even cry out, or gush. All she could do was dance round her bedroom like a little agitated ball of energy.

She grabbed her mobile phone and texted him, "Speechless."

"Goes w/o saying."

"Cheeky. Srsly! Need 2 tlk."

"Conj of Empt will never let us. Not prprly."

"2 big 2 txt. 2 much 2 say!"

"Try," he wrote. Then ten seconds later. "Pls."

A long pause from her, several minutes in fact. Then, "Keep lstng 2 CHST."

"Ok."

The Doctor had been listening to the song he'd dedicated to Martha, but he had since turned down the volume. He turned it back up and waited for the next song to end. Then, the radio host's voice came back over the airwaves and said, "Now, ladies and gents, you're going to love this! The Doctor and Martha are at it again! Doctor, Martha texted me just a few minutes ago, and asked me to deliver this message to you. It's a story of unrequited love and space travel! Enjoy, my friend."

A piano chord came through the speakers, followed by mounting strings. Then the two combined in descending triplets. Celine Dion's voice then filled the console room.

_I've looked everywhere I can just to find a clue, to get to you, _

_And make you want me_

_And I've run circles round the sun chasing after you, but it's no use_

_Can't you see that I'm going out of my mind_

_Trying to find a way to get through to you?_

_Oh, you don't know how hard I try and I try and I try_

And then the voice on the radio wound up for its trademark belt, and she delivered the chorus, almost with anger. He could actually feel Martha's two years of angst coming through in a third party's unknowing, passionate performance.

_What do I gotta do?_

_Do I gotta get water from the moon?_

_Is that what I gotta do to make you love me, make you love me?_

_Do I gotta turn the sand into the sea?_

_Is that what you want from me?_

_I've done everything that I can do but get water from the moon!_

Wow. Unrequited love and space travel. References to the moon. He gulped. He pictured Martha in her light blue pyjamas crying, somewhere out there where he couldn't talk to her. But no matter that they couldn't talk. He fired up the TARDIS console and materialised across the street from her parents' house. He'd have parked right in her bedroom, but the last thing he needed was Francine and Clive trundling in, having been unceremoniously awakened by a grinding TARDIS in the middle of the night, with him and Martha not able to explain.

He waited, however, to leave the TARDIS. He owed it to Martha to hear the rest of the song.

_I've reached high up in the sky, tried to steal the stars to win your heart_

_But even that's not enough_

_And I've searched every book I know just to find the words to touch your world_

_And get some love out of you_

_I've already given all I can give and I don't…_

_I don't know what's left to try… and I try and I try_

_What do I gotta do?_

_Do I gotta get water from the moon?_

_Is that what I gotta do to make you love me, make you love me?_

_Do I gotta turn the sand into the sea?_

_Is that what you want from me?_

_I've done everything that I can do but get water from the moon!_

_Love me… how do I make you love me?_

_How do I make you see that I'm going out of my mind?_

The music was building to something, and he felt fists forming…

_I try and I try and I try!_

Once again, the voice was hanging in the air with a passion he'd rarely noticed in a singer before. And once again, she sang the chorus with anger, punch, purpose, and in a slightly higher key. He was itching to leave the TARDIS, to run across the street and tell Martha he was there. Even if they couldn't talk, maybe they could find a way…

The song finished and he locked the door behind him. From the street in his bare feet, he texted her.

"Look out."

"?"

"I'm here. At ur house. Look."

She looked outside and saw him wave, and her heart leapt into her throat. He was here? She'd seen him fifteen minutes before, but that was before she'd known what he had to say. And it had been in some weird sewer dimension, like it wasn't real. This was her home, her street, and it was real.

She looked down at herself. She was in her pyjamas, for crying out loud! But he'd seen her already this way, and anyway, she didn't want to take the time to get dressed. She went down the stairs as quickly as she could without making noise, and opened the door. He was standing at the end of the path that came out from the house, in the garden gateway. She shut the door behind her and walked toward him. He didn't try to meet her – he just stayed put.

The look on her face was one of worry. She was ecstatic, but cautious. What if... oh, she could fill a drawer with _what ifs_.

Still, she fell into his arms, and into a kiss that might have made her forget her middle name. He held her tightly against him and pulled her off her feet, and if her heart was in her throat before, it was now thrumming hard in the pit of her stomach, and she trembled. Everything she was feeling thirty seconds ago when she'd looked out the window, she was now feeling it one-hundred fold, but she couldn't let go, not for anything. The tightness of his arms and lips, the warmth of him, made her feel free.

When he set her back upon the pavement, she finally pulled away. She looked at him with amazement in her eyes. He took her hand and started to pull her away from the house, and he gestured with his head toward the TARDIS. In there, anything was possible.

And that was scary.

She shook her head and tugged him the other direction, toward the house. He went with her. He understood.

As she opened the front door, she motioned for him to be quiet, and pointed up, indicating that her parents were asleep. She giggled a little, feeling like a schoolgirl, bringing a boy into the house and not wanting her parents to find out. Little had she known as a schoolgirl that someday she'd be twenty-five years old and doing this, because her own, proper flat had been blown up by an alien. This thought made her giggle again, in spite of herself. The Doctor just smirked at her.

To get as far away from her sleeping mum and dad as possible, she took him by the hand to a door under the stairs. It seemed to lead down into a basement or cellar. She motioned for him to go, then held up a finger, indicating that she'd just be a minute.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and switched on the light. A soft light from a floor lamp came on in the corner, revealing a small room, refinished and converted to a guest room. A sofa bed had been pulled out and made up nicely, and there was an old television in one corner, with a VCR and an X-Box.

Next to the TV, there was a large, but portable, CD player sitting on an old formica night table, covered with dust and bumper stickers. Some CD's had been haphazardly strewn about the night stand around it, and he peeked in the drawer below, and found a few more. A variety of genres, but mostly mainstream, popular female artists, from a time when Martha and Tish would have been adolescents. Whitney and Mariah, Alanis Morrissette, Annie Lennox, Enya... The Doctor guessed that the player had been theirs, and it had been long-since forgotten here in the basement.

By contrast, the most interesting thing about the room was the vintage 1970's turntable sitting on top of an antique chestnut credenza, totally devoid of dust or smudges. It was complemented by a prodigious collection of vinyl records, lined up on the shelf below, also devoid of dust. Someone in this household treasured this collection, and took great care of it. And upon further inspection of the records, he found that they had been placed in alphabetical order by artist. There were a lot of womanly artists from the late 1960's and early 1970's, who wrote about relationships _and _world events, sometimes controversial, sometimes just sentimental. He guessed that the collection was Francine's and that the records must be in pristine condition, all originals from the era.

He thumbed through the records wistfully. A few of these artists he had met, and this made him smile.

Martha startled him just slightly when she knocked on the door at the bottom of the stairs to let him know she was there. She tried her voice again, just in case, by attempting to say, "Hi."

He smiled a "hi," back, and held up a 45-inch single called _I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper, _circa 1978_._ It was an exceedingly ridiculous song about space travel and sex. More accurately, shagging in a spaceship. He raised one eyebrow at her, as if to ask, "Seriously?"

She shrugged and laughed, then handed him one of the mugs of tea she'd brought down from the kitchen. She motioned for him to sit down, so he took a seat on the edge of the sofa bed.

She set her mug down on the floor, then leafed through a few of her mother's records. She chose a Joni Mitchell album from 1969 and set the needle carefully on the final song. An acoustic guitar began to play, and she adjusted the volume carefully, looking up toward the upper floors.

Finally, Martha took her tea and sat down on the floor. She wedged herself in between the Doctor's legs and sat with her back to him. She rested her head on his knee and toyed with the leg cuff of his pyjamas as she sipped her tea.

The voice came in, as Martha sighed.

_Rows and flows of angel hair, and ice cream castles in the air_

_And feathered canyons everywhere... I've looked at clouds that way._

_But now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone!_

_So many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way._

_I've looked at clouds from both sides now,_

_From up and down, and still somehow_

_It's cloud illusions I recall _

_I really don't know clouds at all._

It was the Doctor's turn to sigh. She was trying to tell him something.

_Moons and Junes and Ferris Wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feel_

_As every fairy tale comes real... I've looked at love that way._

_But now it's just another show: you leave them laughing when you go._

_And if you care, don't let them know – don't give yourself away._

_I've looked at love from both sides now_

_From give and take, and still somehow_

_It's love's illusions I recall_

_I really don't know love at all._

At these words, she looked up at him. She had worry in her eyes, as she had had pretty much every moment they'd been together since Essed'Iv had taken them.

She wanted to know if he was listening. He was.

She had grown up. She was disillusioned, and who could blame her, after a year with him? She had once thought she knew... but not anymore. He should have known it from the semi-angry song she'd chosen to dedicate to him on the radio: she was scared, and maybe not ready.

_Tears and fears and feeling proud to say I love you right out loud!_

_Dreams and schemes and circus crowds... I've looked at life that way._

_But now old friends are acting strange; they shake their heads, they say I've changed._

_Well, something's lost, but something's gained in living every day._

_I've looked at life from both sides now,_

_From win and lose, and still somehow_

_It's life's illusions I recall_

_I really don't know life at all._

The song ended, and the turn table clicked off. The Doctor manoeuvred himself onto the floor next to her. He took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her briefly and smiled, nodding.

She believed that he understood. But she wanted to tell him that her disillusionment didn't mean that she didn't love him, didn't want to give their love a chance – she was just afraid. Right now, all she could think to do to express this was do what he had just done: kiss him, and smile. She couldn't hide the worry in her eyes, though, and he saw it.

He stood up and crossed to the beat-up CD player that had once been Martha's or Tish's or both.

She listened to the CD cases clack together as he went through them, she downed the rest of her tea and set the mug aside. She lay down on the bed and curled up, feeling exceedingly tired and shamefully needy.

The Doctor seemed to find his song, and as soon as the soothing strings came in, Martha smiled, as she recognised the song. She rolled over and looked at him, and he smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking. What an _appropriate_ song for someone like him.

_Who can say where the road goes, where the day flows? Only time._

_And who can say if your love grows as your heart chose? Only time._

She smiled with concession, and closed her eyes, nodding that she accepted what he was saying. She patted the other side of the bed and motioned for him to lie down with her. He did, and she pressed up close, with her head in the crook between his arm and his torso. She lay her hand on his chest, and felt both hearts beating completely steadily, as though he were not nervous at all about what was happening. This gave her a measure of confidence.

_Who can say why your heart sighs as your love flies? Only time._

_And who can say why your heart cries when your love lies? Only time._

She looked up at him, and he looked back, smiled and kissed her again. This time, she wouldn't let him pull away. She curved her hand around the back of his head and held him there. He turned his whole body to face her, and opened his mouth, just a little, to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met and a wave of something intoxicating came over them both, and suddenly, that basement room became a little bubble of unreal. He turned more, until before either of them knew it, he was on top, and she was pulling at his pyjama tunic.

_Who can say when the roads meet, that love might be in your heart?_

_And who can say when the day sleeps, if the night keeps all your heart?_

There were buttons in the front, but somehow, he'd forgotten about that and pulled it over his head. He buried his mouth behind her ear, rained kisses all over her neck. She shivered feeling his tongue slide over her sensitive skin, and feeling a strain below his waist and against her thigh. If she'd had a voice, she would have moaned, but instead, a heavy breath came out of her.

He ran his hands up under her pyjama top and she wriggled out of it. He continued his quest all the way down her body, from her collarbone, every inch to her waist. The song had long-since ceased and gone into the next track, and the next, by the time they were both ready. They had no words to say so, but they had their eyes. As calmly as he could, he sat up and slid her pyjama bottoms off. She lay there, now completely bare, waiting. He couldn't help running one hand over a smooth thigh, watching her shiver. She giggled and curled up – he had tickled her. He moved to the edge of the bed to remove the rest of his clothing, and Martha took the opportunity to pull back the blankets and crawl beneath.

He crawled in with her, pressed his lips to hers, his body as well. She parted her legs and he slid inside very easily, and it felt real. Natural, as though they'd been doing this together all of their lives. The music played out, saw them through much of their lovemaking, but they didn't need it. Their bodies were doing all of the talking, and the sounds of hearts beating, lips touching, quickened breathing – this was all they required. It was all they could hear anyway now, the music of each other.

Somewhere in the silence, Martha felt her body climbing. She could feel the end nearing, and something explosive and wonderful about to happen. He pulled back and looked in her eyes. Never stopping, never slowing down, only needing to see her through, he watched her and patiently brought her to the top. With that, she fell head over heels over a cliff and into a climax that ended everything she'd ever known. She could catch fire. The Doctor could love her.

And she could scream.

She hadn't expected that.

A great rippling cry came through the air as she felt the pleasure jolt into, and out of, her.

He was shocked as well, but was too far gone to react in any way other than to gasp slightly. A second or two later, he buried his mouth in a pillow and groaned hard, releasing everything; his voice into the cotton, and his tension and apprehension and part of himself into her.

He rolled off her almost immediately and they looked at each other and laughed, covering their mouths, surprised at how much noise they could make with their happiness.

Emptiness was gone. Essed'Iv was defeated, and his hold over them was broken.

* * *

><p>For a man of many words who had recently just regained his voice, the Doctor said surprisingly little. They just lay in that little room, under the covers on the sofa bed, and listened to each other breathe. They would talk tomorrow.<p>

Eventually, Martha got up and turned out the lights. She opened the door just slightly, so a little bit of light could creep in. It wasn't much, just a hint of streetlight from a basement window across the hall. She crossed the room and put the Joni Mitchell record away. Then she leafed through the collection again, pulling out another. This time it was Kiki Dee, _Loving and Free_, another strong, surprisingly sentimental, woman from the 1970's. She chose a song, and a piano played a few chords, along with a guitar accompaniment. Martha smiled and crawled back into bed with him, again, curling up close, with her head on his chest.

_Strands of light upon the bedroom floor_

_Change the night through an open door_

_I'm awake, but this is not my home_

_For the first time, I'm not alone._

"When this is over," she whispered. "You'll have to go. But don't go far."

"Okay."

"I want you to be nearby when I tell them, but not too nearby. My mother's reach with a croquet mallet is truly surprising."

He chuckled. "Okay. Just let me know what you what me to do. Tell me how to make it easy for you."

"You can't. Just don't ever be far away again."

_Reaching out, I touch another skin_

_Breathing out as he is breathing in_

_Deep inside, I feel my soul aflame_

_Can my life ever be the same?_

_I should have told him_

_I'd do anything if I could hold him_

_For just another day, for just another day_

_This love is something I will not regret_

_When I am far away, when I am far away_

_I feel the rainfall of another planet... another planet!_

The Doctor smiled into the darkness.

_Close together in the afterglow_

_I remember how his love would flow_

_Turn the key to another world_

_Made a woman of a simple girl._

"My parents will be awake in an hour," she whispered, reluctant to think about it.

_Daylight comes, as we both know it must_

_Soon my fantasies will turn to dust_

_But I would give him anything he asked_

_If my first love could be my last!_

_I should have told him_

_I'd do anything if I could hold him_

_For just another day, for just another day_

_This love is something I will not regret_

_When I am far away, when I am far away_

_I feel the rainfall of another planet... another planet!_


End file.
